


The Tremble of your Body on the Day you Let Me in

by Skitz_phenom



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magic Curse Whose Effects Become Worse Each Time Victim Orgasms, Manhandling/Shows of Athletecism during Sex, Masturbation, Mid-Canon, Prostate Massage, Rimming, Weapons Kink, authority kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:33:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/pseuds/Skitz_phenom
Summary: Merlin's puzzled when Arthur moves their sparring session to the privacy of the Darkling Woods. As the afternoon wears on, however, he starts to get an inkling that there's more than just lessons in swordplay on the agenda. So, of course that's just when they're quite rudely interrupted. But Merlin's not going to let bandits or nefarious magic or even a lack of lubrication get in the way of finishing what they started.





	The Tremble of your Body on the Day you Let Me in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Impala_Chick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/gifts).



> Impala_chick, I really, really enjoyed writing this for you and your tags and prompts were such fun and so inspiring! I really hope you enjoy! :D

Muttering a litany of apologies under his breath as another townsperson in the lower city dodged his frantic scramble, Merlin scurried around the man and his armful of gourds and then nearly overcorrected as he dodged a woman pushing a handcart laden in turnips. He managed to keep his feet – barely – and hurried down the final narrow lane that took him to the postern gates.

Where Arthur already waited, the reins of two saddled horses clutched in one hand.

And from the expression on his face, had been waiting for some minutes.

Merlin skidded to a halt, boots sliding along for several feet on well-worn cobbles, and then managed to flail his arms enough to stop just short of Arthur’s crossed arms and pointed glare.

“I know!” he panted, before Arthur could admonish him. “I’m late. I know. I’m sorry. It’s just,” he waved an arm around, gesturing vaguely the way he’d come and catching his breath, “I got stopped by Aldrich, you know? The baker? He wanted to know if his petition had been discussed by the council, and of course I had to explain that I wasn’t privy to the council’s discussions and that he should take the matter up with one of your father’s advisors…” he trailed off as Arthur lifted a brow.

Merlin tried not to flush at the way such a simple, controlled gesture could so utterly compel him to silence. He tensed, fearing… or perhaps being honest with himself, anticipating… the tongue-lashing that was sure to follow. He doubted Arthur knew just how much it got Merlin’s pulse racing and his blood running hot to stand quiet and let Arthur’s words lash at his skin and capture his breath and send thrumming sensations throughout his whole body.  

But Arthur stayed silent, almost as if he _did_ know just how much the anticipation wound Merlin up and how it would make him feel to have it go unreleased, and then finally he just rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Get on the horse, Merlin.”

Merlin’s “Yes, Sire,” eked out on a breathy exhale and he found himself bowing his head dutifully to Arthur’s back, as he’d immediately turned ‘round to his own mount. He watched long enough for Arthur to heft himself effortlessly into the saddle – the motion practiced and smooth – and then he followed suit.

He’d gotten better at riding over the years, Merlin knew, but he was also far from displaying the ease that Arthur’s many years of training and practice exemplified.

Arthur was still watching him; that judging eyebrow dipping and rising with every shift Merlin made in the saddle. He squirmed and wanted to duck out of Arthur’s scrutiny, but settled for tapping his heels into his mare’s barrel to get her moving.

“You’d best let me lead, Merlin,” Arthur said a few moments later, his gelding passing by at a slow lope. “You’re likely to get us lost.”

Merlin snorted as he urged his mount to match speed. “I wouldn’t if I knew where we were going.”

“You sure about that?” Arthur asked with a laugh that carried on the breeze. “But if you must know, we’re going to the Darkling Woods.”

Merlin’s horse whuffed noisily before Merlin could, but he figured it counted. “Well if we’re just going to the Darkling Woods, Arthur, I know how to get there.”

Arthur’s rejoinder was an amused huff of breathy laughter. “Who’re you kidding, Merlin. You’d get yourself lost getting to the privy if it wasn’t just down the corridor.”

Feeling his cheeks pink, Merlin didn’t retort, but he did grumble under his breath. Not quietly enough if Arthur’s over-the-shoulder smirk was anything to go by.

They rode mostly in silence after that, although Arthur occasionally looked back to call out some point of interest or offer a word of caution at a fallen log or low hanging branch. Each time he seemed to let his gaze linger, just a bit and Merlin didn’t know what to make of that.

The whole of the journey, a bubble of nervous anticipation seemed to form in Merlin’s belly and it only grew and expanded until it seemed to push at his breastbone and catch at his lungs. He tried to quash it down, telling himself that Arthur likely just wanted a change of scenery from their usual practice sessions. Perhaps he wanted to hack at trees, instead of the standing targets in the training yard?

But he knew that wasn’t it. Arthur would’ve explained something so prosaic.

Although Arthur hadn’t been himself of late.

He’d been strangely solicitous and especially guarded, even possessive of Merlin’s time. Merlin had even remarked to Gaius just two days ago that anytime he wasn’t needed to assist Gaius, Arthur had him doing chores or polishing armor or cleaning his room, even when many of those things weren’t needed (because he’d done them the day before, and the day before that).

It felt like he’d been spending more of his time at Arthur’s side, or in his presence, or just in his line-of-sight – like when he’d requested Merlin stay to serve him wine while dining with his father and Morgana, and then never called for a refill – than ever before.

He could even pinpoint when it started: just after they’d rescued Gwen from Hengist’s keep and Lancelot had come back to Camelot with them. At first Merlin had figured Arthur just needed a distraction from his heartbreak – as Lancelot and Gwen were quite inseparable – but it continued even after Arthur declared himself ‘over’ the loss and could look upon the pair of them with an easy smile at his friends’ happiness.

No, it was something else; although Merlin couldn’t quite bring himself ‘round to naming or accepting just what that something might be.

Still, the thought that it might be that unnamable something expanded the warm effervescence in chest further and further still. And, despite his efforts at quelling it, his breath never seemed to come at less than a shallow pant.

At least that could be excused by the slight exertion of keeping a steady seat on a cantering horse.

It wasn’t until Arthur drew back on his reins and slowed them to a walk that Merlin finally let his mare come abreast of Arthur’s gelding and ventured, “Uh, Arthur, I’ve been wondering, why are we out here? I thought we were meant to meet for sparring practice this morning?”  That had been the last they’d discussed when Merlin had left Arthur in his rooms the night before, after tending him as he readied for bed. “I mean, why come all the way to the Darkling Woods just for some sparring practice?”

“Because, Merlin, I imagine this is going to be quite embarrassing for both of us, and I’d rather have fewer witnesses.”

Expecting to hear there was something about the terrain or some specific technique that was best attempted amongst the trees, the answer came as a surprise. “What do you mean? Why?”

Arthur ignored him in favor of wheeling his horse off the path and into a break in the trees. Merlin guided his mount to follow and when he caught up a few dozen lengths into the woods, Arthur was already dismounting.

“This will do,” Arthur announced.

“Do for what?” The question was somewhat rhetorical, though, as they were in a nicely sized clearing with the grown-over remains of a campfire offset from the center. Apparently, they were here for more than just weapons practice. Which was odd, as Arthur hadn’t asked that Merlin ready them for a day of hunting and had simply ordered Merlin to meet him at the gate at two candle-marks past dawn. Arthur had done this all on his own.

Again, that airy, tight feeling pinched at his ribs.

“Come on,” Arthur gestured for Merlin to get off his horse, leaving the question unanswered. “Untack the horses and get our gear unpacked.”

Unloading the saddlebags and two extra satchels, Merlin discovered that not only had Arthur packed the normal accoutrements for an extended hunting trip – foodstuffs, bedrolls, and the like – he’d also brought along extra armor. Not a full set, but a few select pieces of mail and leather were rolled up neatly in an extra padded gambeson.

Considering that Arthur already wore his own usual assortment of chain, bracers and singular pauldron and gardbrace, Merlin had a sinking suspicion just who that extra armor was for. He refrained from asking though – knowing where it would lead – and focused on his task of readying their campsite. Arthur, meanwhile, picketed and rubbed down the horses and even went to gather firewood. Which was also unusual as he usually relied on Merlin to do all that as well.

Once they’d both finished their tasks – Merlin could only feign straightening stones ringing the revived firepit for so long – he stood and joined Arthur on the farthest side of the clearing where Arthur had used a boot to kick-up leaves and detritus, exposing a wide swath of the sandy soil beneath.

“Uh, what’s this?”

“Practice grounds.”

That’s what Merlin had been afraid he’d say. Apparently, they were here just for sparring after all. He tried not to let the realization disappoint him.

Arthur nodded down at the small, neat pile where Merlin had stacked the spare armor. “All right,” he said, not quite hiding a smirk beneath the officious sounding tone, “let’s get that on.”

“But you’re already wearing –”

Merlin’s protest was cut off by an amused snort. “Don’t be coy, Merlin. You know it’s not for me. This is for you to wear.”

“Me?” Merlin asked, hoping that playing a bit dumb might convince Arthur what a bad idea this was.

“Yes, you,” Arthur explained, already kneeling to pick up the mail hauberk. “I realized after that little encounter with those mercenaries in Hengist’s keep that you could do with a bit of training up.” He stood and held the chain up, rucking up the hem in his fists. His expression went a bit strange as he added, “I won’t always be there to knock out the guards and we can’t always count on unstable chandeliers. You need to learn to move in armor–”

“That was just that once,” he started to protest.

“ _And_ ,” Arthur continued, firmly, “you need to learn to defend yourself.”

“But usually you order me to stay away from combat. And it’s easier to duck and run without the armor, you know.”

Arthur fixed him with one of those silent but oddly loud glares. “Are you going to argue everything I say, Merlin?”

Merlin shrugged in response. He didn’t quite know for sure what the answer to that was. Most of the time it was ‘yes’. And he suspected Arthur could read that in his shrug, because there was a small smile playing about his lips when he blew out a sigh.

“Look, you’re going to learn how to fight. Or at least defend yourself with armor on. So, if the occasion arises where I need you to do it again, you’ll be more prepared. I mean, Morgana fights better in armor than you, Merlin.”

If he’d meant the latter as an insult Merlin didn’t take it that way. “Yeah, well Morgana fights almost as good as you in armor, Arthur.”

That earned another glare, this one conflicting with the grin he couldn’t quite hide, but didn’t dissuade Arthur from the task at hand. “This is happening, like it or not.”

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Merlin stepped closer and lifted his arms for the mail. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

Arthur shook his head. “Gambeson first.”

“Oh, right,” Merlin agreed, feeling his cheeks go hot.

As he bent to pick up the padded cloth, he heard Arthur chuckle. “Really, Merlin. You ready me in my armor daily. How can you forget the padding?”

Face probably matching the ruddy gambeson, Merlin shrugged into it and tied the laces at the front. “Well, to be fair to me, I don’t usually help you with this part.” He tugged at the sleeve that was stained by years of oil and metal.

Arthur’s grin only spread wider. “Fine, I’ll give you that. Now, arms up.”

He raised his arms and stood like that, trying not to squirm while Arthur lifted the bulky chain and guided it down his arms, and then quite gingerly worked it around his head and over his shoulders. Arthur was so careful that hardly a link mussed Merlin’s hair, and it seemed to take him far too long to tug and straighten the thing once it was on.

Seeming satisfied, eventually, he patted Merlin on the shoulders and gave a jerk of his chin. “The rest of it now.”

Arthur nitpicked here and there as Merlin tried, and mostly failed – although that was due to Arthur’s interference – to get the other leather armor pieces in place.

“How is it you can do this for me, but can’t do it for yourself?” Arthur muttered as he tightened the notch on a bracer strap.

Merlin – discomfited by Arthur’s nearness as he’d practically dragged Merlin against his chest to get access to the wrists that needed buckling – could only shrug. And even that motion was arrested by Arthur’s body. “Well, I mean, it’s backwards when you do it this way, isn’t it?”

Arthur fixed him with another look. This one inciting a full-body shudder since it was being delivered from mere inches away. “I’ve been capable of putting on my own armor since I was a child, Merlin. It shouldn’t be that difficult to figure out.”

Yes, well… he was hardly likely to admit that as much it discomfited him, he also rather enjoyed having Arthur manhandling him quite so much. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as inept as he let on. But each time he fumbled a buckle or twisted a strap in the wrong direction, Arthur would slap his hands away with a frustrated sputter and sound oh-so-put-upon when he said, “Oh, just let me do it. You’ll never get it at this rate.”

And despite his complaints, Arthur never quite stopped grinning and he went so far as to loop a heavy cloak around Merlin’s shoulders, explaining that a cloak could impede his movement and he needed to learn to work with it, instead of against it. Even he seemed to have a bit of trouble getting it tied, as his fingers brushed against Merlin’s throat for several minutes before he seemed satisfied.

Finally, Arthur gave him a onceover and then a quick nod. “Well, that’ll have to do.” He stepped back a pace, and then two more. “All right, Merlin, draw your sword.”

Before he’d started with the heavy red wool that draped Merlin’s shoulders, Arthur had buckled a belt and scabbard around Merlin’s waist and hadn’t _that_ been an interesting experience. Arthur’s arms around him, body close so he could reach. Of course, it had been ruined by the thick padding and leather; knowing that Arthur’s fingers dragged against his body but unable too feel anything except the occasional bit of dull pressure.

He awkwardly struggled to pull the long sword from the sheath. He got the tip a bit caught up, but finally managed to draw the weapon free. All the while he was aware of Arthur watching him, brow raised critically but that coy smirk never far from his lips.

“Maybe we should just practice that a few times,” Arthur offered dryly.

Feeling put on the defensive, Merlin raised the sword. “Or, you could just try whacking me about with your sword and we can call this done.”

His petulance pushed Arthur’s mouth into a half-frown, but he didn’t chastise Merlin for it. Instead he just lifted his own blade and gave a nod.

“Be ready to parry, Merlin,” he instructed. “Hold your blade across your chest at a guard and then force mine away with a flick of your wrist.” He demonstrated the motion.

Although he did as instructed, Merlin failed miserably at sweeping Arthur’s blade away and ended up with the point of it pressed against his chest.

“That’s a killing blow.” Despite the words, Arthur didn’t look too disappointed.

“Sorry,” Merlin offered, not quite sure an apology was appropriate, but he didn’t like failing Arthur.

Waving that away, Arthur let the sword drop.

Merlin wasn’t sure if it was intentional, but the point of the blade traced a line all the way down the leather armor, leaving a faint scrape behind. Something about the motion suggest the teasing draw of a finger along skin. He shuddered in spite of himself.

“Again,” Arthur said, drawing back and settling into that ready stance once more.

Merlin stepped back and squared off again.

They tried again, and again. Merlin ended up with Arthur’s sword tapping him against the ribs or under the chin or jabbing him in the belly more often than not, but his attempts slowly started to improve. Arthur’s coaching throughout stayed positive and encouraging, offering advise like, “Come on, Merlin. You’ve got to anticipate the motion,” Or “No, hold your blade down a bit more and when I come in, sweep it to the side.’ And especially helpful bits like, ‘No you idiot, that’s not a guard position.” Culminating in a wickedly amused, “What are you doing? What idiot taught you to parry?”

“You’re the idiot,” Merlin shot back.

He got a hard slap on the flank with the flat of Arthur’s blade that he danced away from with a yelp, and Arthur’s laughter.

Still, beneath the coaching and chastisement, and even all the playful banter, Merlin couldn’t shake the sense that there was another layer to this whole endeavor. Something deeper and more primal.

It was in the way that he could see the pulse in Arthur’s throat thrum faster beneath the thin skin whenever their blades crossed and slid to catch at the hilt, bringing them close. It was in heavy, dark pupils that seemed to widen each time Merlin managed to deflect a blow or duck away from a well-aimed swing. It especially showed itself when Merlin got in a lucky strike, once catching Arthur high on the shoulder with a jab that made him snarl and let out a low groan at the same time.

It seemed like hours later they were stood opposite each other in the clearing, both panting. Merlin with his hands wrapped tight around the hilt and the tip of the weapon driving several inches into the dirt. The blade probably the only thing holding him up.

Arthur, meanwhile, looked dewy and pink-cheeked and like he could go on for hours more. Damn him.

“Well,” Arthur finally said after staring at him overlong, “perhaps that’s enough for today.” He made it a question rather than a statement though, with that slightly pleading lilt at the end.

Merlin was sure then, that his reply would set the tone for the rest of this outing. He could call them done, and Arthur would end the lessons and probably suggest some hunting. Or he could work through his exhaustion and be bold in the hopes that his hunch might pay off.

“Maybe enough with the sword,” he began, hurrying to add as Arthur’s face began to fall, “but, uh… maybe we could consider some direct combat?” His cheeks were flushed enough from exertion that it certainly hid the heat burning up his neck to the tips of his ears. “I mean, you’ve seen me. I’m, um… more likely to be disarmed sooner or later, right? Best I know how to fight.”

Arthur’s brow had lifted when Merlin made the suggestion, and his grin returned full force, pushing into one side of his face, peeling back from his teeth, almost feral. “You make a good point, Merlin,” he stated. He jabbed his own blade into the dirt at arm’s length and then stalked across the short space between them and took up Merlin’s sword and did the same, getting it out of the way. He chivvied Merlin back a few steps with the press of his body.

He began explaining some technique, though Merlin struggled to listen, to focus.

Arthur was so _close_.

Despite the layers of chain and padding and leather between them, Merlin imagined he could feel the heat building. Arthur took hold of one of his wrists and pulled it down and was just instructing, “Now, try to wrest free of my grip,” when one of the horses whinnied.

Arthur stilled, listening a moment. When the sound was echoed by the other horse, this time higher and strident, he took a half step back.

“What is it?” Merlin started to ask.

Arthur flung up a hand, covering Merlin’s mouth with a hard-pressed palm. “Shhh,” he hissed out. He began to sidle them both sideways, closer to the nearest standing sword. But before he could get within an arms’ reach, three men came rushing through the trees, hollering and wielding swords and cudgels.

Merlin tried to push past Arthur, but apparently Arthur had the same idea and he strong-armed Merlin behind him, putting himself between Merlin and the approaching bandits.

The first three men slowed their approach, circling warily and were followed almost immediately by four more and before Merlin knew it, they were surrounded. The men were dirty and scruffy and dressed in a variety of mismatched armor and oft-patched clothing – nothing more than bandits by the look of them – but they were all also armed.

Two of the first group approached slowly, weapons at the ready, while the remaining circled around.

“Well, well. What have we here?” one of them – with a split lip and a scraggly beard – asked.

“A pair of knights, lost in the woods?” The second – long, stringy hair tied back in an unkempt plait and a scar across one cheek – ventured with an unseemly smirk.

If it weren’t for the fact that they were surrounded, outnumbered and both disarmed, Merlin might have found being mistaken for a knight rather amusing.

Arthur apparently agreed, because he chuckled.

“Something amusing, Sir Knight?” Split-lip asked.

“Just that you’ve confused my servant with a knight.”

“Servant is it?” Scar-cheek echoed. He shook his head. “I think you’re having us on, mate.”

Split-lip added, “And who might you be then? Out in the woods with your… servant.” He let that hang in the air, unsavory the way it fell from his mouth.

Before Arthur could respond, Scar-cheek spoke. “Now ain’t the time for talkin’, Hob. Let’s just kill ‘em both and be done with it. Got their horses, their gear. Plenty of gold to be made from that lot.” From around them, a few of the other bandits muttered agreements.

“Well, if it’s gold you’re after,” Arthur offered, just as nonchalant as if he were talking to merchants, “then, it might interest you to know that I’m Arthur Pendragon. Son of Uther Pendragon,” he added when that was met with little reaction. “The King of Camelot,” he concluded, looking put-upon.

“Hell you are,” Scar-cheek retorted with a scoff.

Arthur swung his cloak around, letting it splay around him. “This is the crest of Camelot. It’s on the saddles as well. Have a look. So, you know I’m at least someone important enough to bear that sigil.”

“So yer sayin’ someone might be interested in payin’ a good sum of coin to get you back?” Split-lip – apparently named Hob – asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Arthur agreed. “Let my servant take word back to my father. He’ll gladly pay for my safe return.”

Scar-cheek shook his head. “You expect us to let some knight go runnin’ back to take word to your family? Like he won’t turn ‘round and come followin’ after the minute we’re outta sight.”

Arthur spread his hands. “He is just a servant, I assure you.”

Before Scar-cheek could respond, Hob grabbed a fistful of his shabby tunic and tugged him aside. They debated it amongst themselves for a few minutes, Scar-cheek and Hob waving a few members of their little band nearer for the low-voiced discussion. The rest kept Merlin and Arthur under guard the whole time.

If Arthur had been trying to get them arguing so they might slip away in the chaos or cause enough distraction that he could get his hands on a weapon, it was to no avail.

“Arthur,” he tried to hiss out, but Arthur jerked his head faintly, so Merlin quieted.

Finally, Hob and Scar-cheek – apparently the leaders – approached again. “Right then,” Hob said. “Your man here will go back to Camelot and then return with the ransom. He’s to meet us at sun-up at the rock falls just west of the river bend. You know where that is boy?”

Merlin nodded dutifully.

“He shows up there, just him and him alone,” Scar-cheek continued, “and he’s got what we’ve asked, then we’ll let you be. But he doesn’t have the coin or tries to sneak a bunch of knights past our guard, well…” he let that trail off suggestively, then ruined the effect by making a slashing gesture at his own throat. “We’ll just have to send a few pieces of you back to that father o’ yours, to show how serious we are.”

“Fair enough,” Arthur agreed.

Merlin had to wonder what kind of plan Arthur had that he was just going to accept being kidnapped and held for ransom.

“Merlin,” Arthur snapped out, even as two of the men grabbed hold of his arms and started to bind his hands behind his back. “You will do as you’re told. Go back to Camelot. Take word to my father. By the time you get back, you’re likely to find him in the gardens with Lady Morgana.”

With that, Merlin finally cottoned on to the fact that Arthur had no intentions of sending Merlin back for any ransom or aid. He assumed that Arthur had some kind of scheme in mind that involved Merlin following the bandits and getting himself free.

Whatever he had in mind, Merlin rather wished he’d give him more to go on!

“It’s a good few hours back to Camelot,” Arthur stated. “You’d best get going.”

“Yes, Sire,” he replied, with deference and a half-bow. Much as it pained him to do so, he stepped away from Arthur then. He watched a moment as the bandits started to drag Arthur after them – fighting the urge to stop them all with a blast of magic – and then hurried off into the trees.

He ran only long enough to get out of sight of any bandits that might’ve followed to make sure he was well and truly on his way to Camelot, and then he ducked further into the woods and slowly made his way back the way he’d come.

Only a candlemark or thereabout had passed by the time he found the clearing once more. It was completely empty, not even a spare piece of tack left behind. Trailing the bandits proved easy enough, as they made no attempt to hide their tracks.

His magic also proved an ample ally, as he used it to disguise his own trail and to see the path ahead, that he might avoid stragglers or guards. Twice he distracted single bandits with noises in the distance or the rustle of nearby leaves and slipped past while their attention was drawn elsewhere.

The bandits had made a camp not far at all from the very location they’d wanted Merlin to return with the ransom. There was a shallow, rocky rill a bit upriver from the falls and Merlin could see that these men had settled in quite well. He crept closer and closer, using magic to hide himself when it was called for, but luckily – other than the two men he’d left behind in the woods – they’d posted no guards.

Merlin scanned the camp for signs of Arthur but didn’t see any; not even a scrap of Camelot red cloak or the flash of Arthur’s golden hair.

Had they taken him somewhere else?

Sneaking around to the far side of the camp – which took long enough that dusk was beginning to settle by the time he found a good position to espy the whole of the area – Merlin searched again, but Arthur was still nowhere in sight.

He was about to risk getting closer, when a pair of rising voices caught his ear.

“You think leavin’ him in the cave with ol’ mad Brill is a good idea, Hob?”

That must’ve been Scar-cheek.

“Oh, aye. Brill ain’t gonna do nothin’ to the lad. Not lest we give the word.” He chuckled coarsely.

“Probably best,” Scar-cheek agreed. “Couple of the boy was eyein’ that fair hair o’ his and those comely looks. Best we don’t go sendin’ him back to his daddy all despoiled now.”

Hob snorted in amusement. “Eh, maybe we could let a few of the lads have their fun? Doubt a proud tosser like him would ever own up to bein’ buggered by the likes of us.” His laugh was lewd and raucous, and it made Merlin see red.

“Astrice!” The word was out of Merlin’s mouth and his arm was up, shoving forward almost before he knew it was happening. Hob and Scar-cheek only had a moment to go wide-eyed before the force of Merlin’s magic propelled them backward into jagged rock.

The outcry that followed took a long while to gather momentum, as lounging bandits couldn’t quite seem to fathom what had just happened. Merlin used that confusion to his advantage. He stalked into the camp, striking out with his magic without hesitation, or mercy. A few men drew weapons and tried to charge him, but he flicked them aside with a swipe of his arm.

He made his way from one end of their makeshift base to the other, and once he was sure there was no one left standing, Merlin made his way back to the woods to deal with the two guards he’d simply slipped by earlier.

When he returned to the lair, all was still. A few bodies might’ve moved from where he’d left them lay – likely crawling away in their last moments – but not a one was missing.

Reassured that he’d face no opposition, Merlin ventured towards the falls, where he’d spied the dark shadow of a cavern mouth earlier. It had to have been the cave that Hob mentioned.

Warily, Merlin approached. He sent out his sight, confirming the surroundings were clear and then ducked into the dim hollow of the cavern’s entrance. Lit only by a campfire at the back, it was difficult to see in the cave and Merlin squinted as he edged further inside.

“Merlin!”

That was Arthur, he’d found him!

“What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be back at Camelot gathering the knights!”

Merlin froze in the egress, letting his eyes adapt to the dark. “Uh, what?”

Arthur was sat on the cave floor, hands and feet bound, stripped of his armor, but otherwise looking whole and unharmed. Breathing a sigh of relief through pursed lips, Merlin started towards him and then he realized there was another figure seated next to Arthur. Shadowed by stone and the flicker of the campfire, Merlin couldn’t make out much.

Brandishing his sword once more, Merlin growled, “If you value your life, you’ll move away from him.”

“He’s blind, Merlin, and enfeebled. He can’t move away.” Arthur told him.

The figure shifted, and Merlin realized he was a very old man. His eyes were filmy, hair just a few thin, spider-silk wisps, and his face so weathered that he looked like little more than a skull wrapped in parchment skin; even so there was something keen about his expression, a sense of malevolence. Something about him suggested more of a threat than any of the bandits Merlin had faced.

“He is not deaf, though,” the man uttered, voice a hoarse rasp. “And he is not going let you free your Prince.”

Unnerved, Merlin let the sword lower, and took a step closer. “What can you do to stop me?”

The rictus that cut across the man’s face was sharp with malice. “Take a step closer and you’ll find out.”

Behind the cross-legged figure, Arthur couldn’t move very much due to the ropes, but he jerked his head toward the old man and even in the dimly lit cavern Merlin could make out that he was mouthing, “The sword. Kill him!”

Arthur’s vehemence was startling, and Merlin started to get a sinking feeling in his gut. He tightened his grip on the weapon, took a silent breath and then lunged forward.

Before the point of the blade touched the old man’s chest, Merlin saw his eyes flash gold and scintillating lines of energy surged around Arthur’s body. Arthur screamed and convulsed, but Merlin couldn’t stop his momentum. The sword struck home, sliding through the old man’s chest with a horrific scraping sensation of bone on blade that juddered down the length of Merlin’s whole arm.

He yanked the sword out, and though the old man toppled, and that magical energy coruscating over Arthur faded, leaving Arthur slumped and panting, the sorcerer began to cackle. It was a horrible, wet and broken sound.

“You… fool,” he spat, voice already weak and thready. “You’ve cursed him now. You’ve cursed your Prince.”

“No!” Merlin let the sword clatter and dropped to his knees next to the dying man. He took rough hold of the wizened shoulders, shaking them. “What did you do to him?”

Just beyond, Arthur let out a strange sounding moan.

“Tell me what you did. Tell me how to stop it!” Merlin spat.

The sorcerer just continued to laugh, even as blood bubbled over his lips. “He… will die,” he rasped, the words barely audible. “To live he… must be brought… low.” A choking cough interrupted his words, each hoarse sputter spraying flecks of blood. “Pride,” he finally gasped. “Pride will… be his downfa…” the word faded to nothing on his last breath.

Pride? Brought low? What the hell did that mean?

Crawling past the dead sorcerer, Merlin brought himself to Arthur’s side. “Arthur,” he asked urgently. “Arthur, can you hear me?”

Though he’d collapsed on his side and seemed to curl around himself, when Arthur spoke, his voice sounded steady enough. “I’m fine, Merlin.”

“Oh, thank god,” Merlin breathed. “Here.” He scrambled for the knife in his belt and then started cutting at Arthur’s ropes.

Although Arthur brought his arms around to his front and began to rub circulation back in them, Merlin noticed that he didn’t make any effort to roll over or sit up.

“Arthur, is–”

“I said I’m fine, Merlin,” Arthur barked out, but there was something taut in his voice and the way he still held his body. “Just, uh… leave me alone for a few minutes, all right?”

“What? Why would I–”

“Just go!”

Despite the order and the desperation in Arthur’s tone, he couldn’t bring himself to leave Arthur’s side. “Please, Arthur, just tell me what’s wrong.” He gently laid a hand over Arthur’s forearm and Arthur gasped at the touch.

“Merlin…” Arthur tried to speak, but it became a moan. And not one of pain or anguish.

The particulars of the situation made themselves known to Merlin then. Whatever curse the old man had cast, Arthur was… aroused. Painfully so if the grimace on his face was any indication. No wonder he wanted Merlin to leave; he wanted to take care of things alone.

“Go away,” Arthur said again, but weaker than before, like his resolve was failing him.

Merlin had no intention of going anywhere. “Arthur,” he said gently. “Before, in the clearing, if we hadn’t been interrupted…” he went silent a moment, trying to figure out how best to say what he wanted to say. “I thought, maybe, things were going to happen, uh… between us. That is, I mean. I wanted them to.”

Arthur didn’t reply with words, but his groan sounded more agonized.

“So, uhm,” Merlin continued, hesitant but sure. “Stop me, if you don’t want this. But I do, Arthur, and I can help you, now. I want to help you now. Please.”

Teeth pressing into his lip, Arthur’s body went still a moment as he seemed to be holding his breath or fighting off whatever sensations he was feeling thanks to the spell. Finally, though, he let out a long exhale and gave the barest nod of approbation. “Yes, Merlin. Please.”

Merlin hurried to struggle out of his armor – the bracers and leather breastplate at least – and then to help Arthur sit up and he dragged him back nearly into his lap. He didn’t waste any time, seeing the agony work its way across Arthur’s face in rhythmic spasms, but he regretted that there’d be no chance for slow and tender build-up and soft kisses. Still, even as he reached around to Arthur’s front and worked at getting his hands beneath Arthur’s tunic to the ties of his trousers, Merlin couldn’t help pressing an open mouth against Arthur’s neck, tasting the salt and sweat there beneath his ear.

“I want to kiss you next time, Arthur,” he spoke into overheated skin. “And I want to strip you bare and touch every part of you.”

Arthur rocked back into him, moaning and nearly thrashing. “Yes, Merlin… yes. Only… I need…”

Merlin knew what he needed, and he finally tugged the ties loose and slipped his hand beneath the waistband of Arthur’s trousers and smallclothes.  The gasp Arthur let out as soon as Merlin’s fingers grazed his cock was so loud it nearly made Merlin flinch. He moved hurriedly, no time for finesse and wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s cock. And it was so hard and so hot and so much fluid leaked from the tip that Merlin didn’t even have to draw his hand out to lick his palm.

He squeezed tight and Arthur nearly choked on a rasping breath. Then he gave a short, gliding stroke and then several more, harder and faster with each one until, too soon – far too soon –  Arthur seemed to convulse against him and Merlin felt the thick heat of come seep down between his knuckles.

Merlin let go gingerly, as Arthur twitched and spasmed with even the gentlest touch, and then he withdrew his hand and wiped it on his cloak.

Arthur panted against him, sounding hoarse and dry.

“Let me get you some water,” Merlin offered, to relieve his parched mouth and to give him some privacy to recover.

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur whispered, though whether it was for the offer of water or for… well, Merlin’s help, he wasn’t sure.

“I’ll be right back.”

He helped Arthur ease back down to the dingy sleeping pallet he’d been seated on, getting him settled, and then stood. He’d spied most of their gear still piled together just outside the cavern and they’d had waterskins packed.

Before he left the cavern though, Merlin knew he needed to dispose of the corpse of the sorcerer. He grabbed it by the feet and managed to drag it outside. He hauled it further away, not wanting to even see the dead man from inside the cavern. Let him join his brethren and rot beneath the trees.

Fortune – well, a bit of it perhaps – seemed to be on his side, as it turned out that the bandits hadn’t rummaged through their belongings yet, and so he dragged the lot back inside. He had a feeling they might need it.

Despite Arthur’s seeming recovery, Merlin heard the sorcerer’s last words echoing around his head. He feared that this might get worse before it got better.

Arthur was at least sitting up when he came back and looking much more normal and alert than before.

Afraid of the awkwardness he knew was to come, Merlin tried to feign normalcy as long as he could. “I found our packs. They’ve hardly been touched. So, we’ve our waterskins, and food at least.”

“Good,” Arthur said, and when Merlin rummaged one of the skins from a saddlebag and tossed it over, Arthur caught it handily enough. He drank down thirstily, and noisily, and Merlin couldn’t help but watch a droplet of water trickle down the long line of this throat. When he pulled the wineskin down it was with a noisy pop of his lips and a loud, relieved exhale.

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said again.

Merlin, who’d busied himself with getting the rest of his armor off – shrugging out of the chain and the padded gambeson with a relieved sigh – and going through their gear, tried to ignore the way that Arthur’s tone was high and wild. “Of course,” he replied simply. He was grinning to himself though, as he unpacked the bedrolls and blankets, arranging them near the fire, and then returned to his rummaging, looking for something that might make a nice meal.

“Merlin,” Arthur said a few minutes later, “look at me, would you?”

Though he feared whatever recrimination he might see in Arthur’s expression, Merlin did as asked. To his surprise, while Arthur’s face certainly didn’t look settled or relaxed, neither did he appear angry or distraught.

“You were right,” Arthur said, and before Merlin could ask what about, he continued. “Before, when you were… what you said. I mean, about our sparring in the clearing. I had hoped…” he let that trail off and he ducked his chin.

Merlin was surprised to see a blush chase up his neck to pink his cheeks.

“It certainly didn’t happen the way I’d hope or planned,” Arthur added, “but the only regret I have is that it didn’t come by choice.”

Knowing that his smile was probably rather ridiculous, Merlin could only add, “I feel the same, Arthur.”

“Next time, on our terms, right?” Arthur stated.

Merlin nodded, eager and delighted.

Arthur changed the subject after that. “You said they didn’t disturb our belongings too much. Any chance the lunch I packed from the kitchens is still intact?”

Rummaging through one of the sacks, Merlin found a parcel wrapped in cheesecloth. “Still intact,” he confirmed with a laugh.

“Good,” Arthur replied, chuckling as well. He pressed at his stomach a moment. “I think I’m just a bit hungry. My belly is grumbling a bit.”

Merlin shared out the contents of the parcel – small honeyed loaves, sharp cheese, cold chicken and thick slabs of salted ham – and then sat down near Arthur and they shared the meal.

“They had some ale barrels back in the main camp. Would you like me to fetch one?”

Arthur looked up sharply at that. “What did happen to the bandits, Merlin?” he asked, looking a bit shocked at himself for not having asked the question earlier.

“Uh, well,” Merlin frowned. He’d forgotten that he’d need to come up with a good explanation as to how over a dozen men ended up dead. “You see,” he began, but broke off when Arthur pressed at his stomach again, this time wincing. “Arthur? What is it?”

Grimacing, Arthur shook his head. “I don’t know… something just doesn’t feel –” he broke of, glancing down at his own lap in disbelief. “Well that’s damn well impossible.”

“What is it?”

“Whatever that damnable sorcerer’s spell, it doesn’t seem like it’s run its’ course,” Arthur admitted sheepishly.

“Oh!” Merlin shuffled closer. “I can help again,” he said, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

Arthur laughed. “Well, I suppose I can’t turn down such a grand offer.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Best offer you’re going to get,” he said cheekily.

“Hmm,” Arthur said, face suddenly going pinched. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

Merlin urged him over to the nicely padded bedding – where he’d layered both bedrolls – and started on removing Arthur’s clothes.

“Merlin,” Arthur protested, “it’s fine. I don’t need to strip off completely.”

But Merlin was adamant. “I said before, Arthur, I’d like to kiss you and to get you naked. I meant that.” Realizing he might be getting ahead of himself or overstepping, he looked up from where he was scrunching up the hem of Arthur’s tunic. “If that’s alright?”

Arthur just grinned at him, fond and soft. “Yes, that’s certainly all right. But uh… we may need to hurry it along,” he added, sheepish.

“Oh!” Merlin gave up on Arthur’s tunic and pushed him back down into the bedding so he could get at Arthur’s trousers. This time he yanked the knot free and worked them down Arthur’s legs. A low, breathy gasp caught his attention then and when he looked up from where he was struggling with the tangle of Arthur’s boots, he nearly gasped at the sight of Arthur fisting his own cock.

Leaving the boots, Merlin crawled up a few feet and then swung a leg over Arthur’s thighs. “Let me, Arthur. Please.”

Though his face was already taut in that odd combination of agony and ecstasy, Arthur managed a nod and let his hand fall away from his cock.

Sooner or later, he promised himself, they’d get to the kissing.

Just then, though, he had other concerns. He wrapped his hand around Arthur’s cock, this time thrilled at being able to see his fingers curved so covetously around the ruddy, blood hot flesh. The tip glistened, fluid beading up as he watched. Merlin ducked his head, catching that drop with the tip of his tongue, and Arthur cursed and bucked beneath him.

“I’ve got you, Arthur,” he promised, and pressed his free hand hard on Arthur’s hip. With the other, he angled Arthur’s cock toward him and slowly he let his lips glide down the plummy tip. Arthur thrashed again and only the weight of Merlin’s hand kept him still enough that the whole of his cock wasn’t shoved deep down his throat.

Merlin knew there wasn’t time for teasing or finesse, much as he’d have liked to employ both, so he pushed his mouth down the length, pressing with his lips and gliding with his tongue and when he had most of Arthur’s impressive length in his mouth, he sucked and then swallowed around it.

“Merlin!” Arthur cried out. His hips stuttered, thrusting up erratically.

Rhythm put aside for relief, Merlin gave up on trying to set the pace and instead of bobbing his head, he stilled, and tugged at Arthur’s hip, giving him a warm, tight place to drive into. Arthur took the cue only a heartbeat later and began fucking up into Merlin’s mouth.

Despite the gapping grip of his fist on Arthur’s cock, Arthur drove deeper and deeper and Merlin fought hard not to choke or gag as Arthur’s wild thrusts pushed his cockhead hard against Merlin’s soft palate. It didn’t take long though, before Arthur was nearly screaming and Merlin felt the first pulse of hot, thick come splash against his throat. He pulled off, coughing and worked Arthur through the rest of his orgasm with short, sharp jerks of his fist.

Arthur slapped weakly at Merlin’s hand once it became too much and Merlin let go. He stared at Arthur’s softening cock, admiring the way the pearly glisten of fluid caught in the golden hairs. He wanted to keep touching, even after Arthur was spent.

While Arthur panted and fought to catch his breath, Merlin sat back, gingerly lifting his leg back over Arthur’s until he knelt at his side. He was hard in his trousers, and the movement made him wince. Earlier, when he’d brought Arthur off with his fist, he’d been so concerned by the urgency and the spell, that although it had aroused him, he’d never got fully hard and hadn’t really felt the need to get off. But this time… Arthur’s cock heavy and spitting on his tongue and his own name on Arthur’s lips?

He ached.

“Hurting, Merlin?” Arthur asked. Though he sounded weary and wrung-out, Arthur was also staring at him keenly.

“Uh, yeah. A bit.”

Arthur frowned. “Sorry. I was so caught up in my own… well, situation. I didn’t think…”

Merlin waved that away. "It’s all right, Arthur. I can take care of this on my own.”

“No!” Arthur blurted. “No, Merlin. I don’t want you to. I mean, I want to take care of that for you.” He smiled then, the sideward one that made him look coy and bashful. “Come here. Lie down beside me.” He padded the bedroll at his side.

Merlin hurried to comply.

Settling next to Arthur’s bulk and warmth felt just as good as he’d always imagined it would.

“Hmm, trousers might be in the way. Why don’t you take them off?”

“Maybe I should just get us both undressed?” Merlin suggested.

“Not afraid you’ll get cold?” Arthur teased.

Merlin pulled away long enough to yank off his tunic and shimmy out of his trousers and small clothes. The effort did little to tamp down his arousal, and his cock still hung heavy between his legs. He helped Arthur out of his tunic as well, and remembered the mess he’d left of Arthur’s boots and pants, but found that Arthur had managed to kick them off at some point.

With both of them naked, Merlin returned to Arthur’s side and flung his cloak over them. “Now I won’t get cold,” he said with a pert grin.

“Lovely,” Arthur retorted dryly. “Naked under heavy wool.”

Merlin had to kiss him then, because he’d not gotten to do it before. And it was everything he’d ever imagined kissing Arthur might be like.

Arthur’s lips were plush and soft, and his mouth was wide and warm. He kissed deep and full, and licked at the crease of Merlin’s lips, and when Merlin parted for him, he caught Merlin’s bottom lip with his teeth and tugged at it gently. Every move he made seemed calculated to make Merlin squirm or gasp or whimper.

And while they kissed and kissed, Arthur traced skilled fingers down Merlin’s chest, scraping over his belly and scratching lightly through the springy hair that surrounded his cock. He dragged a blunt thumbnail over the tip, and rolled a knuckle at that spot just beneath the head, and traced along the vein on the underside, and then finally, finally closed Merlin’s cock in his fist. All the while he never stopped kissing, never stopped sucking at his tongue, never stopped working at Merlin’s mouth in the same rhythm he worked his cock.

It would’ve been embarrassing how fast Merlin came, but it felt like he was being fucked in two places at once. He gripped tight at Arthur’s forearm and gasped the hot breath between them, and came with a low, ululating cry.

“That’s it,” Arthur crooned, his lips still soft against Merlin’s jaw. “I’ve got you.”

Merlin managed to steal one last, quick kiss before collapsing against Arthur, doing little more than gulping in air. “Arthur… thank you. That was…”

He couldn’t see Arthur’s face, his own pressed into Arthur’s chest as it was, but he could hear the smugness of Arthur’s tone. “Yes, it certainly was.”

Sleep tugging at him, Merlin gave a low hum of agreement.

Arthur drew him tighter and wrapped the cloak – which had been flung aside at some point – around them and pressed a soft kiss to Merlin’s forehead.

When he woke again, Merlin wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but something had drawn him rather urgently from sleep. He realized after a few moments, that it was Arthur. His body, which had gone rigid beneath Merlin.

“Arthur?” he asked groggily.

The low chuckle that sounded from Arthur’s lips was anything but amused. “Uh, I’m starting to understand why this was a curse, Merlin.”

Another realization struck Merlin then; the hard, hot thing poking him in the hip wasn’t a dagger. “Again?”

“Afraid so.”

“Oh, Arthur. I’m sorry. How long was I asleep? Why didn’t you wake me?”

Arthur shushed him. “It hasn’t been long, I’m afraid. And, I was hoping I could just take care of it while you slept.”

Merlin exhaled a noisy scoff. “Arthur, don’t be such a stubborn prat.” He pushed himself up, so that he could look Arthur in the face. “Let me help you.”

“It wouldn’t be a hardship to bring myself off with you in my arms, Merlin,” Arthur said and though his brows were waggling suggestively, Merlin heard a certain tenderness in the words. He also heard an eagerness that told him Arthur wasn’t exaggerating that.

“Would you like that?” he asked coyly, blinking slowly and looking up at Arthur through lowered lashes.

It made Arthur laugh, but there was heat in his gaze as well. “I would,” he admitted, looking only slightly abashed.

“Do you want me to watch?” Merlin asked, watching Arthur’s face for cues. “Or, do you want to do it over me? Finish yourself on my chest or my cock or my face?”

Arthur’s face matched the cloak in its redness, but he nodded at everything Merlin said.

Rolling away from Arthur then, Merlin settled back into the bedding. “Go on then,” he invited. “Let me see what you’ve got.”

“Oh, I’ll show you, Merlin.” Arthur words were a wicked promise and he shifted up on to his knees in a ridiculously athletic maneuver. He moved his hand toward his jutting cock but paused a moment before taking hold of it. “Uh, can you just put your arms up, behind your head?” he asked, again caught between lewd and bashful.

Merlin hurried to comply, raising his arms and crossing them underneath the back of his head, letting them hold his head up at the perfect angle to watch Arthur’s display. “Like this?”

“Oh yes,” Arthur breathed, “exactly like that.” His hot-eyed gaze was covetous as he took in all of Merlin’s bared form and even when he finally wrapped his fingers around his cock, he managed to keep his eyes on Merlin.

“Tell me,” Arthur gasped out, after a few perfunctory strokes. “Tell me how you want me to go.”

Dizzy with the idea of instructing Arthur how to jack himself, Merlin’s voice squeaked a bit when he finally said, “Go slow at first, keep your hand loose. You’re so wet, you’re dripping. Use that.”

Arthur rolled his palm over his judiciously leaking cockhead, gathering the slick fluid and spreading it down his full, flushed length. He did as Merlin instructed, stroking slow and Merlin could see that his fingers were lax, barely circling his girth.

Merlin watched as Arthur’s body began to bow out, hips and cock pushing forward, back arching and putting the whole of his body on display. The firelight painted his skin in hues of gold and turned the shadows to rust, and the sweat trickling down his taut body flickered like glittering stars.

“You’re gorgeous, Arthur,” Merlin couldn’t help but blurt out.

Though he gave a brief little snort of acknowledgement, Arthur didn’t slow his stroking and his teeth were pressed too tight into his bottom lip for any other response to slip out.

Merlin needed to see him come apart.

“Tighter, now,” he urged. “Shorter strokes. Get under the head, you know the spot. Squeeze there and let your thumb sweep over the tip.” Arthur obey each word. Spurred on, Merlin called out, “Your other hand, get it on your skin. Touch yourself, your chest, your nipples. On your bollocks, if you like. Whatever you like.” And Arthur’s own fingers dragged across his belly and down the deep inward 'v' of his hip and then stroked at his balls.

Slack-jawed by the pure abandonment on Arthur’s face, Merlin was swept with a surety that this had to be some kind of dream. How could he, a lowly servant, be commanding the Prince of Camelot to bring himself such pleasure. If it was a dream, though, he had no intention of waking up.

“That’s it,” he cooed, “yes, that’s good. You’re so good, Arthur. Come on… you can do it. Make yourself come.”

The corded muscles in Arthur’s forearm went tense and his strokes sped faster while his other hand took a good grip of his bollocks and tugged at them. “Tell me,” he managed to croak out, “to do it… for you.”

Merlin could barely find his voice, he was so overwhelmed, but he managed to say it, “Come for me, Arthur. Come for me…on me. I need to see… I need to feel it…”

And that was enough.

Hot streaks of come spattered over Merlin’s neck and chest, dappling his chin and stripping his belly and thighs. Even when Arthur finally fell forward with a hoarse shout, catching himself on one hand next to Merlin’s thigh, he still tugged more and more droplets, squeezing them out over Merlin’s nearly renewed cock.

“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin breathed, awed by it all. “Arthur that was amazing, that was so beautiful. You were so good, so go–”

His litany of praise was cut off by a sharp cry as he felt Arthur’s mouth close around his cock, working it to full mast with a few sucks and licks. Arthur’s breath steamed from his nostrils like dragon’s fire over Merlin’s groin, and when he finally pried his hand free from his own slack cock, Arthur reached down to paint his fingers through the come on Merlin’s belly.

“Oh gods, Arthur!”

He’d spent himself only a short while earlier and he wasn’t afflicted by some sorcerer’s curse, but Merlin felt another orgasm slowly building within him.

When Arthur’s come-slick hand pushed his thighs apart, Merlin let them fall lax to the sides and he rolled his head wildly back into the blankets when Arthur’s fingers probed at his arse, slipping deftly between his buttocks. They lingered there and Merlin was almost too far gone to realize that Arthur was waiting for his permission.

“Yes,” he whimpered, “please.”

A finger pressed in slow, pushing easily past any resistance. Merlin gasped and cried out as it slowly worked in and out, matching the tempo of Arthur’s bobbing head. Then he began to writhe when a second joined it, barely having given him time to adjust. But the sharp spike of pain was a welcome reprieve, settling his nerves and bringing him back from the brink.

Arthur’s fingers were so long, and he pushed them in deep, searching and stretching, before dragging them out, only to plunge them in again and again. And then he crooked them, just right and something not unlike magic sparked behind Merlin’s eyelids and he nearly screamed Arthur’s name as his orgasm burst from him.

He felt himself flooding Arthur’s mouth and felt the convulsive sensation of Arthur swallowing around him again and again. And Arthur’s fingers kept pressing in and in and Merlin knew he must be mewling and whining but he was too lost in the sensations flooding his body to care how he looked or sounded.

The last few pulses eeked out into Arthur’s mouth when he finally pulled his fingers free from Merlin’s clenching hole and he sucked at Merlin’s dwindling cock, catching every drop. When he final let Merlin’s cock slip from his spit-slick lips, he cupped a hand under his mouth and spat into his palm.

Merlin watched all this, bleary-eyed and wrung dry. He waited for Arthur to wipe his palm and perhaps finally let himself fall back to the blankets, but instead when Arthur looked up at him, there was desperation in his gaze once again.

Looking down Arthur’s body, Merlin could see that his cock was already hard and straining.

“Merlin?” Arthur pleaded. “Can I?”

If he’d not been pleasure-drunk and addled, Merlin might’ve understood what he was agreeing to when he said, “Yes, anything, Arthur.” Not that he’d have refused Arthur anything, but when Arthur’s groping hand tugged at his hip and urged him to roll over, Merlin finally understood.

He expected fingers, but he looked back over his shoulder to see Arthur slicking his cock with the spit and come in his cupped palm. And then Arthur grasped both of Merlin’s hips, tugging him up, arse in the air. Merlin got his elbows beneath him in a hurry, bracing and he bunched up the fabric of the long-forgotten cloak in his fingers to pillow his head on.

Arthur breached him slowly, and it stung and burned and Merlin bit at his lip to keep from crying out. But it also ached in a different way, deep inside of him and Merlin was helpless to do anything but rock back to meet that slow first thrust.

He let Arthur set the pace after that, let him take his pleasure from Merlin’s body once again. He was too far gone to even get hard from the sparking sensation of that ache in a too-much, too-much throb of pleasure-pain. But, he wanted Arthur to have this; he wanted this from Arthur. Feeling Arthur’s chest curled over his arched back, and the splayed press of Arthur’s fingertips into hips, and the desperate, primal way Arthur’s hips slapped against the backs of his thighs, was everything Merlin ever wanted.

“Take me, Arthur,” he whispered, barely able to manage more than a soft moan. “Please,” he begged softly, “please, please… I need you.”

A soft, gasping cry fell from Arthur’s lips, and he fucked Merlin hard and fast. He drove Merlin’s body down, fucking into it, until Merlin knees gave out and he was pressed down hard into the bedding, and still Arthur pounded at him and rutted like a mindless beast.

He needed release. “Arthur,” Merlin barked out desperately, and before the name left Merlin’s lips full, Arthur was shouting, and his hips drove hard into Merlin with a few final, brutal thrusts. 

“Merlin,” Arthur was murmuring over and over, and there was something so awful in his voice.

Merlin understood when he felt Arthur start to harden again, even before he pulled out fully.

“Gods be damned, Merlin,” Arthur pleaded, “won’t this ever end?”

Almost like he had no control, Arthur’s cock pushed back in to Merlin’s over-used hole. Merlin could feel the strain in his body as he tried to hold back. And Merlin wanted to be able to lie there, to be able to take it, but he couldn’t… and he knew Arthur would hate him if he let Arthur’s lust – no matter that it was caused by magic -be the reason he caused Merlin pain.

So, he squirmed away, feeling Arthur’s cock jabbing at him even as he belly crawled out from beneath the cage of Arthur’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur was repeating now. “I’m sorry.”

Merlin rolled to his knees, gingerly, knowing he’d feel every grapple and thrust in the days to come, but he shuffled to Arthur’s side and caught him up in his arms. “No, I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m sorry that I have to tell you like this, but it’s the only way now… the only way I can think to stop this from killing you.”

He used all his strength to crush Arthur to him, ignoring the way Arthur’s cock rubbed wantonly against his bare thigh, and apologized for what was to come one final time. “Please, Arthur, forgive me.”

With croaking guttural words, and the splay of his hands over Arthur’s body, Merlin let his magic free. He spoke the string of healing words over and over, forcing them beneath Arthur’s scorching skin. But no matter how many times he let the spell scrape his throat raw, or how hard pushed, Arthur’s cock still burned like a brand against him and the magic failed.

“No,” he cried, desperately, trying another healing spell. Then another…

Nothing.

“Merlin,” Arthur somehow managed to gasp, “please… end this.”

Merlin didn’t want to even acknowledge what Arthur might be asking. “No!” he shouted. “No, there has to be a way. There has to be a spell.”

Frantically he thought back to the dying sorcerer’s words. What had he said? “ _Pride would be his downfall_ ,” Merlin remembered. “ _He needed to be brought low.”_

But what did that mean? Wasn’t Arthur already as low as he could get?

Another phrase came to mind then, but it hadn’t come from the sorcerer. Hob had said it, ‘ _Doubt a proud tosser like him would ever own up to bein’ buggered by the likes of us._ ’

Of course!

It was so simple.

He just needed to bring Arthur low by fucking him.

Except, Merlin had come twice in a nearly impossible span of time, no matter how eager he might be, and if Arthur’s cock couldn’t get him hard again he didn’t think much would… not soon any way. And it needed to happen soon. He looked down where Arthur had collapsed against him; he was frantically stroking his cock, but Merlin knew soon enough even that wouldn’t bring relief.

He thought for a minute about trying to find something to fuck Arthur with. A branch, a sword hilt? He dismissed all those ideas immediately and called himself an idiot for even thinking them.

And then he called himself an idiot again. He had fingers, didn’t he? He had a tongue. 

If the situation weren’t so dire, Merlin might have laughed at his own stupidity. Instead, he mustered his strength and started to manhandle Arthur into position.

“You need to lie down, Arthur,” he explained. “I can fix this but I need you to trust me.”

“Trust you,” Arthur echoed, sounding barely cognizant. “You’re a sorcerer… can’t trust you…”

Right, Merlin had forgotten for a moment that he’d tried to do magic in front of Arthur.

And despite the harsh words, Arthur didn’t fight when Merlin got him onto his belly, and he didn’t argue or pull away when Merlin settled between his legs.

“I’ll fix this, Arthur,” Merlin told him adamantly, “I promise.”

Arthur did squirm at the first touch of Merlin’s tongue to his arse, but when Merlin got a hand on each buttock and spread them apart, he squirmed back into Merlin’s probing tongue, not away from it.

This wasn’t something Merlin had ever done, but he didn’t want to just shove his fingers in dry and saliva – well, mixed with come – had worked well enough for Arthur. He’d just have to get Arthur nice and wet and slippery.

He licked at the dusky furl, teasing it with little swipes of his wet tongue and then further, pressing his tongue flat and holding it there, undulating it. He worked the tip into that tight pucker, driving in and in and in.

His efforts seemed to be working though. Arthur’s body trembled, and his head tossed and his hands clutched desperately at the blanket, but he was talking to Merlin again, coherent once more, urging him on.

“Yes, Merlin. Oh gods, like that. Yes…”

Merlin lapped and sucked and let spit run down his chin as he nosed and tongued Arthur’s arse. Shifting for a better position, Merlin felt wetness squelch at his backside, so he stuck a finger up his own ass, and drew it out slick and glistening. He pushed that finger into Arthur then, easing it in. Arthur’s body tightened around him, but Merlin just kept up shallow, deepening thrusts and he kissed the pert flesh of Arthur’s buttock and lipped at his balls and nipped at his thighs until Arthur slowly loosened up. Then he prized a second finger in next to the first, this one wetted down with a plethora of saliva, and slowly began to pump them in and out.

Arthur cursed him, but as his curses also included words like, “Fuck,” and “Yes,” and “Again,” and “More,” Merlin assumed Arthur didn’t object to his ministrations.

He pushed in deep, like Arthur had done to him, and then slowly drew his fingers out, letting the pads skate along the smooth inner wall until they dragged over a firm nub. And Arthur nearly convulsed, swearing and writhing and rutting his hips into the floor.

“That’s it, Arthur,” Merlin crooned, slowly stroking over that spot again and again, feeling Arthur come apart. His ass clenched around Merlin’s fingers and his whole body juddered as he came yet again.

 “You’re going to be fine. I’m just going to keep going… keep this up until I’m hard again and can fuck you good and proper.”

“Oh gods, Merlin!” Arthur nearly cried. “I can’t… I can’t…”

“You can,” Merlin reassured him. “You can. I know you can. Trust me, Arthur. I wouldn’t do anything that would hurt you. You know that right?”

For some reason, that made Arthur croak out a wild, hysterical sounding laugh. “You’ve got magic, Merlin. You’re a sorcerer.”

“Yes, I am. But I always have been, since the day we met. And I’ve never done anything to hurt you before.” His own chuff of laughter was strangely light. Maybe it was because all the while they talked, he was rocking his fingers in short little arcs into Arthur’s ass? Or maybe it was finally being free of the secret that had plagued him, had kept him from feeling like he and Arthur could ever be truly what they were meant to be to each other. “I’ve saved your life a fair few times as well,” he added, unable to contain his burbling joy.

Arthur's lingering silence was petulant, but he rocked his hips back into Merlin’s hands and reached back to grapple for any part of Merlin he could reach, settling on clutching at a knee. “Explains a lot,” he finally said.

Merlin giggled. “It really does. And when this is over, and uh… we can both walk again proper, I’ll tell you all about. Anything you want to know.” Softer, he added. “Everything I am is yours, Arthur.”

A soft, “I know, Merlin,” slipped out, only to be chased away by a long moan as Merlin stroked a little firmer and a little faster.

“Just a bit longer now, Arthur, you can take it.”

Whether it was feeling freed by the truth or just the fact that he was making Arthur know pleasure like he’d never known, Merlin could feel his loins stirring. Just a bit longer, a bit more and he’d be ready.

His gliding was starting to stutter, and Merlin knew he’d need something to smooth the way once his cock was ready, and he’d foolishly let Arthur’s last spend soak into the blankets.  He ducked his head down again, tonging at the ring of muscle around his finger, working at the rim with his lips. He spread his fingers apart, jabbing the length of his tongue between them, delving it as deep as he could manage.

With his other hand, he stroked Arthur’s bollocks, and worked his fingers underneath to Arthur’s cock. It only could’ve been magic that kept it leaking so heavy. He built a steady rhythm with his searching tongue and splaying fingers and the sliding squeeze of his hand.

And when that didn’t seem to be quite enough to push Arthur over the edge, Merlin remembered he had magic, and he breathed out a spell. The words were slurred and unintelligible since his tongue was wedged inside Arthur, but the intent clear in his mind. It was a simple little spell, one he used to heat Arthur’s bathwater, and he let it flow down his skin in a whisper deep into Arthur’s body.

“Merlin!”

A hot rushed filled Merlin’s ready hand and he pulled his tongue and fingers out of Arthur so fast that he had to mutter a numb-tongued apology at Arthur’s wince. “Sorry, sorry…”

There was no time now between bouts, and even as Merlin let a few more dribbles collect in his palm, he could feel Arthur beginning to stiffen again. He worked his hand free, carefully cupping his prize, and then he dipped those two fingers in, pushed them back into Arthur for a few seconds and once he pulled them out, he slicked his own cock with his fist.

“C’mon now, Arthur,” Merlin urged. “Up on your knees. I understand it’s easier that way.” He laughed when Arthur grumbled, but managed to get himself on all fours.

Merlin got himself in positing and pushed forward until the tip of his cock was just poking in to Arthur’s hole. “Are you ready, Arthur?” he asked, wanting there to be no room for doubt.

Though Arthur probably wouldn’t have a voice left for many days when this was all said and done, he managed a gravelly, “I am, Merlin. Take me, please.”

Pushing into Arthur’s body felt like the best magic Merlin had ever known. He moaned, and Arthur gasped as they came together, and Merlin bowed his body forward over the broad plane of Arthur’s back and whispered, “I love you, you know.”

Arthur didn’t respond in words, but he rolled his hips back, and met Merlin’s first thrust and they built slowly to an easy, steady tempo.

Merlin started to speed up, clutching tighter, panting into Arthur’s skin, when Arthur reached back with a palm to slap at Merlin’s thigh.

“Arthur?”

“Over,” Arthur insisted. “I want to turn over. I want to see you when I come this time.”

Biting his lip, maybe a bit overcome, Merlin made a noise of assent and slowly pulled out. Arthur sighed at the loss but rolled to his back beneath the cradle of Merlin’s body and opened his arms. Merlin settled into them, resting his hands on the back of Arthur’s thighs when Arthur dragged Merlin's hands there, and pushed them forward, letting their strength hold him up.

Merlin surged down, catching Arthur’s lips in a messy, amazing kiss.

When he drew back, Arthur was gazing at him, all those things Merlin always saw in his eyes – fondness, exasperation, frustration, aggravation, amusement, joy – they were all there, but… he thought he saw something else too. Something perhaps a bit new.

Arthur kissed him again, just sweet and fleeting. “Time to save my life, Merlin,” he said, full of cheek as ever.

Shifting back into place and widening his knees, Merlin shoved Arthur’s legs forward once more, knees almost to Arthur’s ears. “I’ll show you lifesaving,” he quipped. And before Arthur could retort, Merlin pushed his cock forward, catching Arthur’s rim just right and slipping inside.

“Merlin,” Arthur yipped.

“Arthur,” Merlin shot back.

Words were lost after that as Merlin found a hip-rolling cadence that seemed to stroke Arthur in all right places. Slowly, steadily the pace increased and Merlin was shocked to feel his bollocks tightening so soon.

This was about Arthur though, about giving him what he needed, so he grit his teeth and kept fucking, watching as a pleasure flush spread over Arthur’s body and his eyes began to roll.

“Touch yourself, Arthur. Take yourself in hand,” he encouraged.

Arthur’s hand flailed just a bit, but it found his angry-red cock soon enough and wrapped tight.  He timed his strokes to Merlin’s thrusts and as his head arced back, and his belly quivered, Merlin knew he was ready.

“Arthur,” he husked out, his own measure starting to falter and go arrhythmic. “Arthur, come with me.”

And when he gave that last, so deep, so hard thrust, he watched as Arthur exploded all over his hand and his taut stomach and his body clenched and tightened around Merlin, and Merlin let loose with a veritable roar.

Or… maybe that was the campfire, that surged to the ceiling, leaving a smoky char behind.

Merlin fell forward, boneless onto Arthur, and could only whimper as Arthur’s sagging arms drooped across his back. Beneath him, Arthur’s body shook and it may have been ecstasy or it may have been him struggling for breath, but Merlin though some if it might have been wild, high laughter.

A few minutes, or hours perhaps, later, Merlin blinked awake.

He’d not moved from his position as Arthur’s living blanket. The only change was that somehow, Arthur had managed to pull that damnable cloak over him. Arthur had been right; it was scratching on naked skin.

He blinked down at Arthur to see him already awake. “Thought you’d be asleep,” Merlin mumbled out, still a bit numb-tongued and thick.

“Nah,” Arthur returned with a sideward grin. “I wanted to enjoy not being aroused finally.”

“Oh!” Merlin had nearly forgotten. That was certainly careless of him. “So, all good then?”

Arthur nodded. “May be a bit tender for a while,” he admitted with chagrin. “But, otherwise, nothing a good two-days sleep won’t fix.”

He reached up and tangled his fingers in Merlin’s hair, tugging him down for a quick kiss. “Thank you. Guess you saved my life.”

A knot had formed in Merlin’s throat, but he swallowed it down and gruffly retorted, “Again.”

“By the way,” Arthur went on, blatantly ignore Merlin. “You may want to be a bit more careful the next time we do that. I mean, I think your magic uh… had a bit of a mind of its’ own.” He lifted his chin towards the ceiling of the cavern.

Merlin craned his neck upward, catching a glimpse of the scorch mark. “Uh, right.” He looked back down at Arthur, suddenly shy. “It’s uh… not going to be a problem, is it?”

Mein going serious, Arthur shook his head. “It’s going to take some time, I think. To get used to. And a lot of conversation I expect.” He sighed, then. “And we’re going to need to figure out a way to keep it hidden from my father.” His lips thinned, pressing tight. “But I’m willing to do all of that, Merlin. All of it.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” Merlin said hotly, kissing him long and fervent.

When he pulled back, Arthur asked, “What for?”

“Guess you saved my life,” Merlin replied.

The grin came back full force. “C’mon," he patted his own chest, inviting Merlin to settle back against him. “Let’s get some sleep.”

“That sounds like a sensible plan, for once,” Merlin agreed, getting comfortable and snuggling close to the mattress of Arthur’s body.

He’d just started to doze when he heard Arthur’s slow, even breathing stutter slightly.

“What did happen,” Arthur asked muzzily, “to the bandits?”

Merlin feigned a snore. They could deal with all of that, and the rest of the world, tomorrow.


End file.
